Page 43 of Heart Strings
He knows that’ll get a rise out of me. Rolling my hips, Ibrace myself against his thighs. “Still. Not. Your. Babe.” With each syllable, I grind against him and pleasure ripples through every cell of my body.
“Yes, you are,” he repeats in that lilting accent. “You’re gonna make a mess all over this cock because you’re mine and I’m yours.”
Pink streaks bloom against his black tattoos where I gently rake my nails down his chest. I’ve certainly marked him as my own.
He might not have much physical control right now, but he always knows which buttons to push. Pouring my yearning and years-old anger into each thrust, I move into a squatting position. My thighs burn with the workout. It feels dominating, even though I’m the one being penetrated. Aidan’s eyes roll shut, mouth quirked in a beatific smile. That’s exactly what he likes about it.
Frustrated because he doesn’t have leverage to piston his hips, he groans. Damn, I might have to bind his ankles and his wrists for round two, because this is too much fun.
“Keep riding me…Let me feel that tight little cunt drip.” Aidan’s voice cracks in desperation.
Tension builds deep in my stomach, propelling me toward climax. I chase that feeling, increasing my pace despite the burning of my hamstrings.
“That’s it, Lo, take it all,” he mumbles against my breasts. “I know you missed the way I fill you up.”
That’s what sends me over the edge: his voice. Pleasure eclipses everything else, warm and white in my vision. But Aidan’s not quite there yet and I need him to feel this with me.
“What do you need?” I manage to ask between strokes. He’s so close, I can feel the tension.
“You. I just need you.”
He’s on the brink of bliss, gently thrashing against his binds as I ride him harder. Just perfect, flushed cheeks and blue eyes heavy-lidded with lust. Aidan moans as he goes over the edge and I swear I feel it in every cell of my body.
My hands tenderly frame his face, dragging along his soft beard as our hips slow. “Aidan…”
When his softening length slips out of me, he whimpers at the loss.Whimpers.
I pull at one knot so that it comes undone. Satin ribbon loosens around his wrist. I rub the red area with my thumb, drop a kiss into the center of his palm, then tug free the ribbon binding him to the opposite post.
“So beautiful, so good for me,” I praise as his hands smooth over my curves. Beads of sweat on his inked chest glimmer in the lamplight as his breathing recovers. I cuddle in close and sling a leg across his torso. He needs to know I don’treallyjust want to use him to get myself off. “It’s always been so good between us.”
“Every minute. Every time,” he answers, stealing a kiss.
God, I never thought that would happen again. I don’t want to return to the reality outside this bed. Not to the family drama nor the reality of his stardom or the stress of rounds at the hospital. Aidan’s arms feel safe. They always have—but I can’t stay in them all night. This arrangement has a time limit. I’ll give it fifteen more minutes until I send him back to his own room.
“Saoirse said you’d eat my head afterward like a praying mantis if this happened again,” he says, chuckling.
I lift my head up and look him in the eye. “I am kinda hungry.”
He laughs harder and squeezes me closer.
Chapter 17
Aidan
After Cielo sentme back to my own room, I lay awake most of the night. Some of that was dedicated to writing down lyrics thanks to the sudden flow of inspiration.
Falling asleep in a hotel is never easy for me and trying to rest after what had just happened felt impossible. I should be in bed with her right now, the comforting weight of her thigh slung across my body and the steady rhythm of her breath reassuring in my ear. Instead, I’m alone, plotting how I can possibly make the leap fromtemporarytoforever.
I can’t let Lo slip through my fingers again. Over the course of the day, I have to fulfill my duties as best man, run interference with Cielo’s parents, and figure out how to keep her. I should’ve gotten more sleep, but I don’t regret an instant of our time together.
Cielo still feels like home. On the road, I’d tried to convince myself I was just a little homesick, but it’s so obvious now that I’ve been heartsick.
By the time the bedside clock reads 5:34, I decide to cut mylosses and start my day. Mist casts a soft haze across the formal garden as the sun begins to peek over the horizon. As I walk, I pull the folded best man speech from my pocket.
Speaking in front of a crowd has never bothered me—I’ve always enjoyed being the center of attention—but today’s performance comes with added pressure. I repeat my carefully chosen words under my breath, trying to make sure I won’t need to rely on my notes. Engrossed in rehearsing the speech, I look up and realize I’ve reached the end of the garden. There’s movement near the garage.
Cielo kneels next to Callum’s black Peugeot, fixing white streamers to the back bumper. She’s not in her bridesmaid garb yet, just a tee and shorts that hug her gorgeous ass. My heart races at the memory of last night, the desperation in her eyes as she bound my wrists.
